


it's best if we both stay

by xxrisque



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am not your responsibility!” Courfeyrac retorts. “Just because you’re a doctor and you’ve convinced yourself that you’re some sort of miracle worker doesn’t mean you have to look after me! I am twenty seven years old, Combeferre, and if I want to put myself in danger then I can and I will!”</p><p>“Fine! Go ahead.” Combeferre brushes past him, grabbing his coat and hurriedly tugging it on. “Just don’t expect me to sit back and watch you get yourself killed.”</p><p>And with a slam of the door, he’s gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's best if we both stay

**Author's Note:**

> word of warning: there's mentions of guns, injuries and blood here, so please be careful if you feel like you could be triggered uwu

“You are such an _idiot_.” Combeferre hisses, crouching down to stare Courfeyrac in the eyes and press an antibacterial cloth against the cut just above his eye.

Courfeyrac glowers at him, eyes impossibly hard, and leans away from his touch, picking at the bandage wrapped around a wound on his arm.

“Courfeyrac.” Combeferre chastises him, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and forcing him to stay still so he can wipe at the cut running through his eyebrow. “Look at me.”

Courfeyrac drags his eyes up slowly to meet Combeferre’s, his expression sour.

“What?”

“Do you understand how serious this is?” Combeferre takes one last dab at the blood on his forehead before discarding the cloth and inspecting the wound.

“It was just a protest. It’s happened before, we’re all fine.”

“They had guns, Courf. Guns! And they weren’t loaded with blanks.” Combeferre stands up and distances himself, fingers tight on the cuffs of his shirt.

“And they’ll have guns again!” Courfeyrac jumps to his feet, hands balling into fists as he rounds on Combeferre.

“You could’ve died! If Bahorel hadn’t grabbed you when he had that bullet would’ve been in your head and you’d be gone! And how the _hell_ am I supposed to live with myself if I let that happen?”

“I am not your responsibility!” Courfeyrac retorts. “Just because you’re a doctor and you’ve convinced yourself that you’re some sort of miracle worker doesn’t mean you have to look after me! I am _twenty seven_ years old, Combeferre, and if I want to put myself in danger then I can and I will!”

“Fine! Go ahead.” Combeferre brushes past him, grabbing his coat and hurriedly tugging it on. “Just don’t expect me to sit back and watch you get yourself killed.”

And with a slam of the door, he’s gone.

Courfeyrac stands for a moment before slumping back down in his chair heavily and sighing to himself. He’s still bleeding, seeping slowly through the bandage on his arm even as he picks at it anxiously, and there’s an uncomfortable pinching in his chest when he breathes. He cards his fingers through his hair and stays where he sits, waiting.

It’s not until three days later, when Courfeyrac is laying on his back on the sofa, bag of ice pressed to his bruised ribs, that Combeferre reappears.

“I left a book here. I need it before I can publish this paper.” He says after he’s let himself in and has spotted Courfeyrac. “I was hoping you’d be out.”

He shuffles awkwardly on his feet, twisting his hands in the long sleeves of his cardigan.

Courfeyrac regards him for a moment, before sitting up slowly and stumbling clumsily to his feet, keeping the ice firmly pressed to his side.

“Can I ask you something?” He blurts out after a moment. Combeferre looks up at him from his book, which he seems to have found stuffed haphazardly on the bookshelf.

“What?”

“I wasn’t the only one that got hurt at the rally, was I?”

“No, you weren’t. Bahorel ended up in hospital overnight with a concussion, and Jehan broke their nose. Joly had to set it on the street.” Combeferre replies stoically, fingers tracing idly over a diagram in his book.

“So they were both worse off than me, then?”

“Yes, I’d say so.” Combeferre’s voice is still flat and toneless.

“Then why were you so upset with me?” Courfeyrac asks, crossing the room to stand opposite Combeferre. The other man snaps his book shut and tucks it under his arm.

“Because I love you. Because if anything, and I mean _anything_ , happened to you, I would never be able to forgive myself. It’s your life, I understand that, and you’re free to protest and go to rallies and put yourself in whatever danger you want, but I will always worry about you and always want you safe.”

“I didn’t realise you were so worried.”

“Courf, you walked into the apartment limping and bleeding from a head wound, and you were covered in blood. Of course I was worried.” Combeferre laughs humourlessly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I won’t stop, you know that.”

“I know, and I’m not asking you to. I’d never ask you to. Just, try and be safe if you can? At least try not to go running into the path of gunfire, if you think you can manage that.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try. Because it’s you, and I love you. And I don’t want you to have to worry any more than you already do.”

Combeferre smiles weakly and sets his book down, wrapping his arms carefully around Courfeyrac and avoiding his side.

“Should I ask what you’ve done to yourself now?”

“I think I’ve bruised my ribs. Joly checked me out and he thinks so too, but you can take a look.” Courfeyrac leans up to brush their noses together. “I _am_ sorry, you know. Really. I’d never mean to upset you like that.”

“I know. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have shouted at you, I know you’d never deliberately get yourself hurt. It’s just, seeing you like that –I was terrified, honestly, it looked worse than it was.”

“I know.” Courfeyrac pushes himself up onto the balls of his feet and kisses him gently, one hand sliding to stroke at the small of his back while the other fumbles to drop the ice to the floor. Combeferre kisses him back, just as soft and feather-light and his fingers twist in the hem of Courfeyrac’s shirt.

“The bed’s cold without you.” Courfeyrac says when he pulls away a few moments later, keeping himself close to the other man. “Come home?”

“Of course.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://badlydressedbahorel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
